The Great Adventures of Lisa

Upon a grating announcement in quick-fire Mandarin from our driver, the twist and drop from our cramped bus-beds was the first challenge. No mean feat when the end of each bed was hidden beneath the headrest of its neighbor. Endless darkness lifted to reveal a slash of light: a truck stop spied through cold-flushed windows, somewhere in Northern China. The masses scrambled, in unspoken competition, to leave the sleeper-bus first. I tripped out in dazed wonder.

As boot hit gravel, the swarm of Chinese men spat unceremoniously, leaving wet puddles at their feet, cold fingers fumbling slim cigarettes and ragged smoker’s breath creating clouds in the icy air.The drop in temperature was palpable since Beijing as it crept through my jeans. My first thought was toilets, then food: those basic human necessities that rear their heads amidst adventures where the land and language is utterly foreign.

Relief was presented in the form of dark room, more prison-cell than restroom, made of solid concrete with square gashes for windows and doors trickling in dim light. The ground was studded with a row of yawning holes that dropped endlessly and the hopeless groan of my companion signposted these as our much needed toilets. Squatting brought us closer to the overwhelming odours. Rubber soles slipped on frozen mucus and puddles of iced-urine. We escaped soundlessly, rapidly, without a backward glance.

Food was our escape: within the soulless main building, almost clinical in its neon glow, we smelt its delicious promise amidst cigarette clouds and the clatter of chopsticks. Up close, the oily offerings looked well past their prime, driving us hurriedly to the pre-packaged foods. A thorough hunt revealed a man selling instant noodles, our saviour.

Across the way, a monstrous copper kettle promised boiling-water for noodles and heat for chilled bones. Dark figures huddled around its orange glow whilst a man tended the flames endlessly, feeding dark coals to the hungry fire and dispensing a steaming trickle of boiled water into our bowls. An age passed until each noodle had swollen into a plump curl. Chopsticks dipped and snatched for the first bite. Pure heaven to a hungry stomach and jangling nerves.

Suddenly, a gravelly cry roused a stampede back onto the bus, legs curling back into their plastic confines, noodles reverently clutched to breast. The bus thundered to life and a single ice crystal glittered in perfection on the window, and so our adventure continued.